The Denizens of Darkness
by ASouffleToServeTwo
Summary: In a futuristic, steampunk-ed Lordran, darkness has fallen across the land. The last citizens - the denizens of this darkness - have only one hope to stave away the oncoming doom of the whole world. The DSS, or Dark Souls Society, is that one hope. Those poor fuckers.
1. Introduction to the Denizens of Darkness

The Denizens of Darkness: The Overview

Welcome, one and all, to the genesis of Project UntitledDarkSouls1, now reborn as the Denizens of Darkness. A special, episodic story that features the members of the DSS (Dark Souls Society) as well as the Fanfiction community as a whole, DoD takes place in an alternate Lordran where time is even more convoluted than usual, and darkness reigns supreme. In a society where law and order has all but collapsed, the fate of the wretched now lies in the hands of a criminal underworld. The soul arts are gone, with new technologies like steam-powered guns and primitive automatons taking their place. Lordran has turned into a shadow of its former glory, with the strong preying on the weak, and only the best of the best surviving. The only thing that stands in their way is a small group of undead, who yet retain their sanity, and may yet retain the world from its final annihilation. Together, they must face death at immeasurable angles, and from every direction.

Their story? You're about to read it.

Starring...

Alone in the blight as Mr. Blight, the mysterious and influential founder of the DSS who is responsible for co-ordinating the movements of the group.

ParagonEmil as The Paragon, a nameless mercenary with an acute close-range weapons proficiency, and a polarising moral compass.

EarthScraper as Caboose, the wisecracking master of bare-fist combat whose humour is just as darkly endearing as his killing capacities.

Mr. Selfish as Selfless, the gadget specialist and primary tactician in the DSS, and the most virtuous member of the group.

Leider Hosen as Lei Hosen, a troubled yet idealistic soldier who assumes the role of the team's conscience, whilst packing a particular proficiency in swordsmanship.

And ASouffleToServeTwo as Scuffle, the team's field leader and master of ranged combat.

Together, they form the DSS (Here known as the Dark Sun Squadron), a group dedicated to pulling Lordran's denizens from the darkness - at any cost.

To anyone who applied and is not on the cast list - I apologise, but the only reason you are not here is either because I don't know you all that well or because you haven't actually written anything. You will all appear as cameos at the very least, with the potential to become recurring at a later point.  
Depending on how proactive I am between the point in which I wrote this, and the point in which you are reading it, I may have a pilot chapter ready to go. If not, hold your breath, and keep your eyes peeled.

PS: I know that "girls don't play videogames," and all of that, but why the hell don't any of the LITERALLY THOUSANDS of female writers on this site write DS fanfiction? The DSS is such a sausage fest atm, and the story really does need female characters. So, if anyone knows any girls on the site who might want to get involved, please send them here (they don't have to be DS writers, but they should be familiar with RPGs)

P.P.S. The story will feature some self-referential humour. You know the sort. 4th Wall breaks and all that schizz. Deal.

The State of Things (5/7/14): So, by now, you've probably realised that there's no pilot episode coming today. It's not finished - around 60% - and I refuse to put it up until its absolutely finished. Expect it around mid-week.

Sorry guys... Please don't b angwee wiv mee :(


	2. Episode 1: Pilot (Revised)

**It's finally here. Sorry for putting it up and then taking it down again; it needed much more work at the time. But now, it's finally ready for the world to taste :D This chapter/episode is dedicated to ParagonEmil and Mr Selfish. Both of them**** were instrumental in inspiring this project, and I couldn't (and wouldn't) have done it without them.**

* * *

**The Denizens of Darkness: Pilot**

**Starring: ASouffleToServeTwo**

**ParagonEmil**

**Mr. Selfish**

**alone in the blight**

**Leider Hosen**

**and EarthScraper**

**Guest Starring: Mxthomas as Mex Thomas**

**CompletelyNameless as Nameless**

* * *

Mr. Blight watched the sun with admiration as it streaked out of sight behind an enormous behemoth of glass and steel. The beams of light that it passed off were dissected by the various sharpened protractions that had emerged from the block like thorns on a bush. Blight watched as the last of the light was cornered against the pane of his window, before being surrounded and consumed by the ravenous dark.

Night was falling in Lordran once again.

"Nature truly is barbaric," he said softly, stubbing out the end of his cigarette on his makeshift, serrated-metal ashtray. "Black and white, light and dark, night and day... It doesn't seem to matter, does it?"

The Paragon looked up at Blight, assuming that the question was directed at him, but proceeding to stay silent nonetheless. Blight was not an easy man to talk with at the best of times. He had an unfortunate habit of using pronouns without contexts, as though he were battling internally with himself at all times. To try and describe him in one word would do him a disservice. Blight was not a jar to be labelled; he was a complex man, and channelled multiple emotions at once, without ever committing deeply to one over another. He was dark-skinned, with a clean shaven beard and dark complexion that constantly suggested deep thought, even if only the most trivial murmurs were bouncing around his head.

Blight opened his hand and coughed violently into his palm. "In a couple of hours, they'll be crawling all over the streets below. The undead; rotting schisms of humanity, tearing each other apart, limb from limb."

"But it's not them we should be worried about, is it?" The Paragon muttered.

Blight grimaced slightly, as though a bitter taste had touched upon his tongue. "No," he agreed. "They're just breathing, shuffling obstacles. The real danger... is people like him."

For the first time in the meeting, The Paragon turned his attention to the sheet upon Blight's desk. It was a caricature, a hastily-sketched effigy of a man in jet black, horned armour. Immediately, Paragon knew that the man was no hollow - he was the real deal.

"Mex Thomas," Blight spat, his disgust heavily-asserted by his dismissive scowl. "Petty street criminal turned local enforcer."

The Paragon held the picture aloft, frowning at its contents. "For what?"

"That's what I want to find out when we question him. That armour is distinguished... but it's not the first time I have seen it. Of course, that means I need him to be alive."

Paragon sighed. A disappointing conclusion. "What constitutes living?" he asked, a shadow crossing his face ensuring that Blight would find no comedic value in his question.

"I want his mouth to be able to move," Blight decided, having paced for a few moments over the practicality of answering the query honestly.

Paragon smiled blankly. "Done."

* * *

The difficulty was in judging the distance.

Or, at least, that was what Scuffle had told him.

Lei Hosen wasn't entirely sure that he believed him. Now that he held the large, ornate-silver crossbow out in front of him, he was doubtful that range was likely to be an issue.

"Try to focus both eyes," Scuffle called to him from the corner of the room. "Wait until your vision comes together into one pane of seeing, like a window. Then, you fire."

Hosen shot his friend a nervous smile, before lifting the bulky crossbow back against his shoulder. He felt his grip loosen on the handle as his palms were washed by a tide of sweat. In the moment, it was like a thousand pairs of eyes were upon him.

In truth, there were only three.

Selfless, the technician, was wiring some kind of clockwork mechanism. He was trying his due best to look uninterested in the event unfolding in the middle of his workshop, but Hosen could feel his pupils burning holes in the rear of his cranium. It was unnervingly difficult to tell what Selfless was thinking - what with the enormous, bug-eyes goggles that obscured his face. That said, he is not a bad looking chap, and his decision to conceal most of his body in a boiler suit-style explosion armour during battle was baffling. An onlooker may describe him as a short heap of bones, but he is muscled in his arms, despite his less vigorous craft. His cheekbones are strong and proud, and his shaved hair and near perfect posture only further demonstrated his commitment to survival and adaptation in a battle scenario.

Caboose, the bare fist fighter extraordinaire, was sitting in his chair with an energetic - and slightly maddened - grin on his face, his legs kicking to and fro as he watched Hosen attempt to fire the crossbow. He was a bulky young man of average height, with piercing blue eyes and a shaggy black mane of hair. The common onlooker would probably declare Caboose as a psychopath; to his friends, however, he was recognised as a skilled combatant, whose methods were on par with their corresponding madness'. To say that he is unconventional does his personality an injustice, but regardless, at the end of the day he knows just how to go about taking on a job, and gets it done promptly, and with as little blood as possible.

Scuffle tried not to flinch as Hosen anxiously wrenched his precious crossbow's strings without any of the finesse or delicacy that he took pride in. It was all he could do not to shut his eyes as the prodigal archer took aim at his distant target. The weapon was equipped with a customised zoom toggle and a pulley-system made of cables and cogs; these ensured both accuracy and lethality, and Scuffle was proud of his weapon. Of course, he was more proud of Selfless for crafting the beast, but regardless, Scuffle was rarely happier than when he was with his weapon. Scuffle took pride in his appearance, but there is nothing particularly distinctive about him. He is toweringly tall, rising well above six feet. His head is quite pointed, and his black hair was styled into a slick, wave-like formation, so as to keep his vision clear for archery.

Hosen nearly lost his aim as an involuntary shudder ran through him. His palms were soaked, and his arms had started to ache, but still he stood fast. His rigid shadow struck out against the light, and for a moment, Scuffle was almost humbled by his valiancy. Lei is, himself, a strangely humble individual. His hair is dark brown, and completely eviscerated below his eyes, and his facial features are typical for a chosen undead - a strong jawline, tight eye-nose correlation and large ears. Still, darkness leaps at the walls behind his blue, gold-rimmed eyes. Blight had never told the rest of the DSS where he had come from, and Hosen kept mostly to himself, but there was rampant speculation about his upbringing. Still, he had quickly been accepted into the group's proceedings.

It was at this point of pivotal concentration that The Paragon entered the room, sweeping into the hall like a gust of wind. Your first visual impression of Paragon may not be savoury - he is a striking individual, after all. His pupils are black as coal, a side-effect from the silver skull that he wears into combat. His hair is brown with blonde tips, and it is cut rather short, about down to his ears. He has mostly sharp features, except for his nose, which is rounded, and his jaw, which isn't wide but not sharp either.  
He has a muscular build, but not particularly broad-shouldered or thin, more average than anything. A normal guy by all accounts, but to those who know him in the DSS (and for more than five minutes, to that end), he is a chilling presence, more concerned with the polish of his sword than the wellbeing of anything alive or dead.

A cold draft on the back of his neck caused Hosen to shiver, and his concentration was destroyed. Hosen was uncertain as to whether the chills were coming from the open door which Paragon had entered through, or if it was just his synchronic nature at play, instilling the very air with his empty presence. Either way, nobody spoke as the fierce northerner strolled into the centre of the room.

"New assignment," he barked, holding up Mex Thomas' mugshot for his comrades to gawk at.

Caboose leapt off of his stool like a Jack-in-the-Box to get a better look, nearly bringing the seat with him.

Mex Thomas was just as one might expect from the criminal underworld that now encompassed Lordran. He was of a slight physique, clearly preferring to rely on tools of warfare over his own fists in order to solve a combat-related issue. His face was a paler white, and a tiny black goatee clung to his chin, like the lone tree that survives the tsunami. He did not immediately strike the DSS as a formidable threat.

"He looks tough," Caboose laughed. "But I'll bet he's all talk."

Selfless smirked knowingly, but stayed silent.

The Paragon coughed into his palm. "Please, remember we are not in the business of underestimation here. Mex is responsible for running a local recruitment service... Drugs, armaments, manpower... He's one of the main go-to men of the Burg."

Scuffle was not impressed, however. "Mex, huh? Who does he think he is swaggering about in that shiny suit?"

"Doesn't matter who he is!" Caboose chided. "His body will hit the floor just like the rest of them. Screaming, blood-spewing... a sack of potatoes."

"Potatoes?" Scuffle echoed, his eyebrows raised.

Hosen returned from placing Scuffle's crossbow on the armaments rack. "I haven't had a potato in years!"

"You're not missing much," Selfless chuckled. "They're mostly overrated. Make good batteries, though."

A deep cough settled the proceedings back to a more focused slope. The Paragon blinked a couple of times so as to separate the useless talk of spuds from the task of hand, before making an announcement.

"Get geared up," he ordered.

Scuffle immediately interjected. "That's kind of my call to make, Paragon," he said timidly, hoping to artificially bring about the recollection in his friend.

Paragon stared at him blankly, before his mouth folded into a passive smile. "Go on then," he said. "Make it."

Scuffle cleared his throat, but was immediately drowned out by the clatter of metal as his comrades began to wrestle through the various racks around the room.

Hosen withdrew his distinctive, light green-hued katana, Palearch, from its sheathe. Gently, he ran his fingers along it, exacting the paternal tenderness one might expect from the relationship between a well-versed swordsman and his weapon of choice. He selected a dark-brown tailcoat with large, threaded cuffs. Then, he decided upon his helmet of choice - a black and silver gas mask with a long, copper breather that wrapped around his shoulders and plugged into his back. This way, he was protected from any kind of close-range chemical warfare.

Selfless began stocking his armoured utility vest. He mumbled approvingly as he pulled his Clockwork Bombs, Paralysis Gas canisters and trademark Royal Dirk from his immaculately-kept chest, and fitted them wherever he found a space. As he often did, he decided to wear his welding goggles into battle, claiming that he had become quite accustomed to the unique vision, and found it difficult to cope without them.

As Paragon donned his signature black trenchcoat, he nearly collided with Caboose, who was already fully-armoured, and was excitedly throwing punches and kicks at the air. Caboose's armour resembled a skeleton loosely, but boasted high-tech enhancements, such as a valve that could change the density and temperature of the metal at will. This meant that Caboose could throw punches that both sear and glaciate his opponents. He also carried a Dragon Torso Stone - one of the few left in existence - allowing him to transform into a nigh-on unstoppable dragon knight at command. Suffice to say, Caboose was prepared for battle.

Paragon slyly brushed away the smile that arose from seeing his friend so energised. _What he would give to be unburdened by conscience._ He held his steel sword up in front of his eyes, just to admire it. Its silver sheen was nearly reflective - in its own way it was like a mirror, or a looking glass. The blade bore several customisations to ensure its singularity in combat. The hilts of the sword are connected by a series of magnetic cables that allow the sword to be electrified in the midst of battle. In addition to this, the pumice is bejewelled by a shiny cog, symbolising its technological background. A truly unmatched steel throughout all of Lordran - Paragon was right to be proud.

Scuffle sighed as his authority was shat upon, seizing his silver crossbow and turning it over in his hands. He frowned as he realised that the weight was completely unbalanced - not because of Hosen, but because of his current mood.

"Not today," he decided, replacing the crossbow and taking his dark, ivory composite bow from its stand. Then, he chose his black and red corset from the rack, along with a pair of utility trousers and his signature steam-powered binoculars.

The DSS was just about ready to roll by the time Mr. Blight had appeared at the top of the stairs. He leaned over the rail, brushed his hair from his eyes, and shouted to his troops: "Make me proud!"

Everyone roared their agreement, with the exception of Caboose, who chose instead to volley the air with a duumvirate of punches and declare: "Let's kill some fuckers!"

* * *

It is claimed by some - mostly the barmiest members of the 'scientific' community - that the very last sight of a dead organism is imprinted upon their iris. A sort-of organic camera, if-you-will, or perhaps a backdoor into the personal hell of the body's former owner.

The truth is not a certainty.

But Mex was a man of decision, and he'd decided that nobody should be able to trace the mindless hollow at his feet back to him. And so, he'd taken the liberty of robbing the man of his final memories... Ah, lets not beat around the bush here. Mex had sliced that hollow's moonlight-yellow peepers straight from their sockets, leaving only an intangible mess of grimy blood and severed nerve endings to greet potential sleuths.

The only problem with this was that now his beloved knife was stained with the filthiest slime imaginable. But he'd soon sorted that, too. The crony whom had endured the duty of having his finely-woven leather armour soiled was not so supportive, but he'd been quick to shut him up. A quick shank to the neck, a hasty, second blade clean upon his less-abrasive comrade's coat, and all was well.

Clean knife, clean mind.

All was unusually peachy. The only hollows Mex had come across were either dead, or on the fringe of such a fate.

With no trouble in sight, Mex approached the centre of the crossing. Towering over the ground was a large steel pylon, coaxed now by ivy and moss, but soaked in a deeper and less accommodating history. Of course, the structure was a watchtower, erected by the original lord of the land to keep peace over its wide boundaries; later, this purpose was bastardised, and the tower was seized with the intention of perverting justice, rather than enforcing it. The ground was black as soot around its base - evidence of burning. The metallic bones of several heavy blunderbuss' decorated the surrounding pavements, and the spicy stench of gunpowder hung in the air from days long past.

This was the place. Once, armoured enforcers patrolled this tower, and executed trespassers. Now, even the vigilante justice was extinct. There was no better a spot for conducting business, and the more irrefutable, the better.

Mex held his arm out, warning his muscle that a further step forward would cost them dearly. His men numbered around six, but their weapons capabilities more than made up for their lack of human resources. Each man carried a blacksteel shotgun, with a curved falchion reserved for close quarters combat. Mex himself was visibly unarmed, concealing his dagger collection inside of his thick grey cloak. He was prepared for trouble, yet did not anticipate any.

This was his first mistake.

Around fifteen cycles of the minute hand later, the contact emerged from the shadows. He was a distinctly-shady character, with his hands buried inside of his pockets and his head that remained bowed as he approached. Mex eyed the man from head to toe, before extending a cautious hand of greeting. The man took his palm against his and nodded gratefully, before removing the large black hat from his head and smiling. His face was wrinkled, and tufts of brown hair served to display the inconvenience of his age. His eyes were bright and brown, but not without a trace of unmistakable darkness.

Mex watched him as he put his hat aside, and was unable to resist a preliminary jest at his appearance. "You know, when I first saw that headgear of yours, I thought I must be mistaken," he said cooly. "I don't deal with children, after all."

The afternoon was pleasingly warm, but the man could've sworn he saw Mex's breath in the air. "The archer is a part of our history," he declared, announcing his voice as a rich, silky sound. He reminded Mex of that old celebrity... 'What was his name...? Lloyd. As in the talisman.

Mex digressed - the man's demeanour would not affect the deal; it would only persist to grate on him. "So, are you ready to discuss our trade?"

The man held up his briefcase, and clutched it closely to his chest, as though it were his infant son. "Titanite is very expensive," he explained. "I hope you have something good for me."

"Indeed I do."

Mex unfolded both of his palms, and the man's eyes were caught on a faint glimmer from their centres.

"Bonafide gold coins," Mex grinned. "Someone informed me that you had a particular affinity for wealth."

"Someone was right," the man replied, his pupils enlarged figuratively to the circumference of a frying pan at the sight of the gleaming gold. Pleased, he passed the case into the waiting hands of one of Mex's men, before seizing the coins from Mex's hands.

Smiling, the man raised the coins to his face, and inhaled deeply. "Mmm," he moaned. "The scent of value. Invigorating."

Mex looked sideways at the man, before speaking quietly. "Pleasure doing business with you... although, you never did tell me your name."

The man laughed, and flipped one of the coins off of his thumb in ceremony.

"That's because I don't have one. I'm completely nameless!" he declared, jubilant beyond comparison.

Mex nodded slowly, baffled by the enigma before him. But he knew better than to question where his food came from - such a noble dog was he.

"Open the case," he ordered to the crony who currently held it in his possession.

The soldier saluted, and his fingers went to the case. Then, all of a sudden he stopped. Mex was immediately alarmed by his demeanour, and the deep shade of concern that covered his face. "What is it?!"

"It's my gun!" the soldier croaked, barely capable of moving. "It's... vibrating."

Mex frowned, then saw how the man's left flank was shaking vigorously. Indeed, it seemed that his firearm had assumed a life of its own.

"Take it off of you!" Mex demanded. "Do it now!"

The soldier tried in vain to obscure the beads of sweating running down his forehead. "I... I th-think it's going to explode!"

Mex went scarlet. "That shotgun is an invaluable resource. You will not let that happen, do you unde-"

**THWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM.**

It took a whole few minutes for the ringing in his ears to stop. Mex opened his eyes, observing little more than dust as the explosion of the shotgun strew it all across his vision. He had been tossed onto his back by the detonation, and his skull pounded like a pneumatic drill. He was just about to start screaming when he saw the figure striding towards him out of the sands.

* * *

- A few minutes earlier -

Selfless punched the air as the explosion plumed through the air ahead.

"And that, my friends, is the power of magnetic manipulation," he grinned.

Ever the professional, Caboose immediately broke stealth and screamed: "Those bitches got **BLOWN!**"

"All right guys," Scuffle rallied. "Move in, and take them out."

Lei Hosen was the first down onto the scene. One of the surviving shotgun soldiers noticed him and cried out, but Hosen swiftly cut his cry with a single swing from Palearch. The man dropped to his knees, gagging from the clean, horizontal cut along his neck. One of his comrades lunged out of the smoke, slicing at Hosen with his falchion, but the DSS member dodged it with ease, sidestepping just in time to allow a huge, thunderous punch to sail past him and straight into the soldier's face. Almost every bone in the man's skull was splintered upon impact, and Caboose withdrew his punch with huge satisfaction, noting the blood all over his gauntlet with a smile.

The Paragon had taken to a higher position in order to carry out reconnaissance. He quickly determined that two of Mex's men had died in the direct blast of Selfless' shotgun detonation, and that since Hosen and Caboose had each killed one, that there must be two left. As he surveyed the still-confused scene, he saw one of the soldiers aiming his shotgun at Caboose's back. The enraged skeleton warrior had not seen it. Paragon was just about to leap into action when a black arrow soared gracefully past him, and implanted itself inside the man's eye socket. Instantly, he crumbled. Paragon turned to look.

"I had that one," Scuffle announced, perching on an alcove above. He winked, and yelled: "Better luck next time!"

Paragon shook his head in dismay, and jumped down into the middle of the crossing. He looked around, but found that he could no longer see either friend nor foe through all of the dust clouds.

All of a sudden, he was struck across the face sharply, and a white light ensnared his vision. He hit the ground, blood spewing from a gash in his cheek, and grumbled in pain. A figure loomed over him, and he only evaded with a second to spare as the second chakra was spun towards his neck.

He slowly rose to his feet, swinging his sword around in a bloodlust. His target was a tall man in a brown waistcoat and a large black hat. He was expressionless, but his eyes were on the Paragon's wound. A third and fourth chakra could be spotted in his hands, where he was apparently juggling with them.

The man stood idly for a few moments, before calling to Paragon. "I'm sorry that I hurt you," he said. "I was trying to kill you."

Paragon was not amused. "Care to try again?" he beckoned, calmly.

The man bowed his head, an eerie display of respect. Then, he flicked his wrists, and his two chakras were airborne, and flesh-bound.

Paragon rolled beneath the blades, before slashing out with his sword. The silver weapon smashed upon the ground, missing its target by a good few inches. Recovering fast, Paragon spotted the man once again, and attacked. A fifth blade deflected the silver sword's trajectory, and a sixth grinded against the gauntlet bound around his wrist. But the DSS fighter hadn't given up yet.

Moving fast, he swapped the sword to his left hand, and drew his flintlock pistol. The ornate wooden weapon was customised to fire specialised explosive and toxic rounds. The man tried to sidestep as Paragon let loose with a volley of bullets, but the DSS soldier was much too adept in his aiming, and one of the curare-laced rounds pounded through his left thigh. Stunned by the blast, the man fell back, and Paragon saw his opening. He put both hands on his sword, and sliced it in an horizontal swing. The man was caught completely off guard, and his attempt to parry the blade was cut off as the pumice sunk deep into his side.

The man yelped in pain, and his hand went to his bleeding wound. Paragon was about to swing again, when a gigantic surge of energy burst forth from the man.

**ZWWWWIIIIIIIIIIPPPP.**

The inside of Paragon's ear caught fire, as a sound akin to a nuclear explosion buried itself deep inside his head. His vision became checkered, and he sunk to his feet.

When he came to a few minutes later, he was staring directly at the sandy earth. The man was gone, but he had left a sheet of paper where his body had once stood. Upon it was an insignia.

_I have to go get this nasty bullet wound treated, now. Sigh. Catch you later, alligators. Nameless._

Then, Paragon felt a hand grip his shoulder. It was Hosen, and his face was plastered with concern.

"Paragon?" he asked. "What happened?"

Hosen outstretched his hand, but Paragon refused it, picking himself up wearily, and dusting down his trenchcoat.

"He escaped," he said monotonously. "I failed. That's what happened."

Then, he walked away.

* * *

- Back at DSS HQ -

Mr. Blight winced as Mex threw himself against the pane of glass, for the third time in only that minute. For someone so obviously trapped, he clearly hadn't caught on with the picture. He was like a fish in a bowl.

"This is really our man?" Blight pondered aloud.

Scuffle nodded. "Mex Thomas. He really is rather pitiful, don't you think?"

Blight rubbed at his chin. "Has he talked yet?"

"Oh, he's talked alright," Selfless chuckled. "Just not about anything useful."

It is at this point when an author will add an example to give the readers a visual interpretation.

**"OPEN THE DOOR YOU CUNTS!"** the imprisoned criminal yelped, smashing his fists ineffectually on the hardened glass.

The Paragon hadn't spoken since his fight with Nameless, but now he decided to let his feelings be known. "He was buying titanite. Most of it was destroyed by the explosion, but..."

"It is most troubling," Blight concluded. "Not only is there a large quantity of the mineral in the possession of this new criminal... Nameless. Not only that. But now we have to make guesses about what Mex here was going to use it for."

"One can _only_ guess," Selfless muttered.

Blight made a strangled coughing sound into his gloved hand.

"You're older than most of us," Scuffle reminded him. "What can you remember about the use of titanite?"

"They once used it for crafting. Weapons, shields, armour. But that was a long, long time ago... Before it was outlawed, and most of it was destroyed, people had started to use it for these strange rituals. People thought... Well, people think a lot of things, I suppose. Paragon, this Nameless chap... What did you say he used on you?"

The Paragon grunted. "Some kind of electronic pulse. I've never seen anything like it."

"If we can't identify it, then it's dangerous," Hosen declared.

"Yes, thank you for that statement of the obvious," Blight scolded, before sighing deeply. "Apologies. Yes, we must find this Nameless chap. I have a bad feeling about all of this."

The DSS founder then turned his head to Mex, who was still seething inside his glass coffin.

"In the meantime, find out all you can from him. I'm counting on you lot."

The DSS saluted their leader. "Yes, sir."

Mr. Blight tried to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. "Well then. To it, agents!"

He then took his leave, walking back to his office and out of the DSS' sight. As soon as he was gone, Caboose cracked his knuckles as loudly as he could.

"Looks like I have some interrogation to do," he boomed.

The Paragon watched him, but his thoughts were elsewhere, and centred on but one thing.

'Nameless... You made a mockery of me, today. This will not go unpunished. If-When I find you, you're going to pay...

'Mark my words.'

* * *

**Thanks for reading everyone. Feedback would be most appreciated :D**

**REMEMBER THAT I AM ALWAYS LOOKING FOR NEW GUEST STARS. IF YOU WANT TO BE A PART OF THE DENIZENS OF DARKNESS, PLEASE SAY SO IN A REVIEW OR A PM. THANKS!**


	3. Episode 2: Below

**A/N: After the generally-nice reception I received on the Pilot episode, I am pleased to announce that I will be writing at least 3 more chapters. After that, I will review the situation, and make a judgment on whether a full season pick-up (10 eps altogether) would be appropriate. Well, enjoy, and please leave feedback!**

* * *

**The Denizens of Darkness: Episode 2: Below**

**Starring: ASouffleToServeTwo**

**ParagonEmil**

**Mr. Selfish**

**Alone in the blight**

**Leider Hosen**

**And EarthScraper**

**Guest Starring: ****FishSlayer as Cynara**

**KiraSnow134 as Shi**

* * *

The lantern rattled for the third time.

The Bone King watched with something close to a reverence as the light that was cast across his room was briefly scattered by the commotion above. It was one of his train carts, passing above the room on its trajectory to his supply rooms. He really ought to get it fixed. The railway was a necessity, but the noise and the vibration that it caused was not. He noticed the discomfort in his guests as the metal lantern swung precariously over their heads, and offered them what he hoped was a comforting smile.

"It really is nothing to worry about," he assured them. "It's just one of my trains. Do you like trains?"

The younger of the two women opened her mouth as though she were about to speak, but her sister slapped her arm firmly; she pierced her with an icy glance that told her that it would have been a terrible idea.

The younger girl folded her arms in annoyance.

_'Cynara never lets me have any fun,_' she thought to herself, inwardly angered.

Cynara, her sister, noticed the irritation that was rapidly building inside of herself. She was not a well-tempered girl at the very best of times, but since their capture, she had turned into something of a time bomb, ever ticking towards an explosion that could shake up their whole world.

Shi is not an ugly girl, but she does have a very sharp appearance. Her eyes are blue, cold and calculating, whilst her hair – around mid-length and styled with bangs - is a bright, fiery red. This sharp contrast in physical attributes was a testimony to her personality, which is two-sided and prone to alteration at the slightest twitch of emotion. One minute she can be a naïve, childish girl but the next a fierce warrior woman.

On the other hand, her sister Cynara is much less reserved with her temperament. She has wild black hair and bright green eyes, and prefers to keep her mouth shut – that is, when she isn't giving someone a verbal lashing with her razor-sharp personality. A testament to her her abrasive behaviour, she speaks her mind indiscriminately, and is thus more prone to danger than her loud-mouthed yet cheery sister.

The lantern finally fell into inactivity, having gently swung like a pendulum for several minutes. The Bone King finally tore his eyes from the spectacle, and back to his dinner. All around him, everyone had stopped eating – this displeased him greatly. He had spent many hours preparing this banquet for everyone to enjoy, and now they were just sitting idly, avoiding everything bar the occasional glance at the clock upon the wall.

The Bone King rose to his feet, and everyone at the table looked up at him. He narrowed his eyes, and pointed angrily at one of his guards.

"What are you doing?"

The skeletal warrior looked startled, and began to splutter excuses. When I say skeletal, by the way, I don't mean in the same manner that Caboose's armour resembles a skeleton – this guard, along with his many brethren, was a literal skeleton. His bones were fused together by mechanical parts, rather than necromancy, and his vision was comprised of a small glass receptor that hung across one of his hollowed eye sockets. As a denizen of Necropolis, and a former member of the living, he was well-certified for his position as undead guardian of the king. He was not, however, enjoying his meal.

"My lord, I would prefer not to eat the food right now!"

The Bone King gripped the arms of his chair so hard they started to crack, and the wood began to peel away and splinter.

"And why not?!" he boomed

The skeleton looked down sheepishly. "It does nothing for me, my liege," he said, indicating his empty ribcage.

The King did not seem to comprehend the situation. "Have a drink," he ordered.

"But… my lord…"

"Drink. NOW!"

The skeleton took a drinking goblet and placed it between his long, bony fingers. Then, he slowly raised the glass to his skull, and poured its contents through the gap in his teeth. The liquid fell through his body like a colander, dripping down over his worn-out bones and spattering onto the ground at his feet.

The Bone King clenched his jaw and shouted at the skeleton guard. "You dare… spill the contents onto my floor? Does my beverage displease you?"

The skeleton guard shook slightly as he denied the accusation. "No, my lord! As I explained to you, it is not-"

Apoplectic, the King drew an enormous steel great axe from its rest upon the wall, and threw it at the guard. The behemoth cleaved through the fragile bones, taking the guard apart and scattering him across the floor in nearly two-hundred separate pieces. The axe continued on its trajectory until it smashed into the matted floor, breaking it open and sinking into the nothingness that lay below.

The whole scene was over in less than tens seconds, and when it was, the King looked bout him at the stunned faces of his guests, and said calmly: "Are we going to finish our meal, then?"

Cynara and Shi looked at each other, exchanging the same disbelieving glance. But they said nothing.

* * *

Two weeks later, and The Paragon was still in a mood.

Not that he was always the most talkative, cheerful guy in the DSS' ranks, of course. But this kind of silence was unusual. In times of normality, he would often suggest humorous, if a little sadistic, ways of downing their frequent rounds of whiskey. Today, however, he was sat dead-still in his chair, and barely looked up from his glass except to pop another ice cube or fetch a refill.

By contrast, the others were deep in discussion. Lei Hosen had put forward the idea that their weapons may be reinforced with more than one brand of element. Selfless, stubborn in his smithing craft, was insistent that he was mistaken.

"Look," Hosen cried. "Caboose's gauntlet's can change from freezing to flaming in less than a second!"

"Yes, but that is a controlled temperature fluctuation," Selfless interjected. "It's not the same thing as imbuing his fists with two different elements!"

"Have you ever tried?" Hosen grumbled, increasingly frustrated. "Have you really though?"

"I don't need to," Selfless retorted, a calm yet smug smile protracting off of his face. "It's basic alchemy. It wouldn't work."

"Could you imbue a weapon with my farts?" Caboose chimed in, viciously chewing an olive between his teeth.

Selfless exhaled. "Of course not."

"Why not? They got the poison AND the fire damage!"

"It wouldn't be fair on your opponents. It's certainly not fair on us."

Caboose grinned like a hyena, and returned his attention to his foamy drink. His contribution to the conversation had clearly concluded.

The sound of the door at the top of the cellar drew the attention of everyone. Scuffle bounced down the stairs, an unusual spring in his step.

"Evening, boss," Hosen and Selfish chimed, nearly rhythmically.

Scuffle nodded to the pair, and sat down in one of the unoccupied chairs around the back of the table. A tall, frothy pint of ale had already been prepared for him.

"I've decided that I'm going to keep it," he announced, gesturing to his newly-grown wave of black facial hair.

Hosen chuckled. "That beard is a disaster area."

"That's a beard?!" Caboose stood up drunkenly, with an engineered look of astonishment on his face. "I thought there was a rat clinging to your chin!"

"Yeah, cheers guys," Scuffle retorted, knocking back the ale and burping loudly. The noise seemed to startle Paragon out of a deep thought, but he stayed silent nonetheless.

"So, what's the story today?" Scuffle pressed, picking up on the tension in the bar.

"Multiple elemental fusions," Selfless told him. "Hosen thinks we can have fire and ice in the same sword."

"Not necessarily opposing elements!" Hosen butted in, his fist curled. "Poison and lightning, for example! There has to be a way!"

"Well, when they find it, you'll be the first to know Hosen." Scuffle pushed his mug underneath the tap as he sturdied himself for another pint. The previous was still partly clinging to his beard, and slithering down his chin like a dried-up waterfall.

"Have you heard anything about Nameless?"

Everyone in the room looked at Paragon in surprise. He was suddenly attentive, making eye contact with his fellow DSS for the first time in two whole weeks.

"Ah, so you are still alive," Selfless reported. "We thought you'd passed on. Caboose and I were fighting over the ownership of your Silver Cogblade!"

The Paragon did not reply. He stood very still, and looked at Scuffle intently, before repeating his own question.

"No," Scuffle told him. "We're still running background research, but we've brought up nothing yet. And Mex isn't talking; that said, I'm not sure that he actually knows a thing about the guy."

"Nameless," Caboose slurred. "Nameless? More like Dickl-"

His sentence unfinished, Caboose's head slumped down onto the table. Seconds later, he was snoring like a warthog.

"I think what Caboose was trying to say..." Selfless translated. "Is that Nameless and his titanite are rarely far from our thoughts. But we have to soldier on, you know? The past is the past."

"He beat me," Paragon reminded him. "Nobody has ever beaten me."

"He didn't beat you," Scuffle said. "He cheated. He had that signal pulse thingy."

Paragon cupped his head in his hands. "All's fair in warfare. I'll get him, though. What with that thing Selfless has been working on."

"He means the counter-wave electronic canceller," Selfless informed the group, most of whom were now glassy-eyed and inattentive. "It's still very much a prototype, and we'll only know if it works in a practical demonstration."

"That means we have to find the fucker first," Hosen rephrased. "And if his location is anything as difficult to determine as his identity, then we could be looking for a long time."

"Then it's a good thing I have a new objective for you, friends."

Nobody in the group had heard Mr. Blight enter the room, but now that he was here, his presence was keenly felt. Everybody except the snoozing Caboose stood up and saluted him.

Blight put his hand in front of him. "Oh no. No, no, none of that. Take a seat, guys."

Once his DSS had all sat down, and Blight had poured a bubbling tankard of his own, he began to describe their new mission.

"Have any of you heard of Necropolis?" he asked.

Most in the group remained cloudy-eyed, but Hosen piped up. "I have."

"Well, that's good. I-"

"My parents were murdered there."

Blight looked startled, and he fumbled his words. "I- I'm sorry, Hosen. I didn't know that."

"It's fine," the DSS member assured him. "I guess I'll be a good guide."

"That you will. Well, ahem. Necropolis is an underground city. Few have seen it and lived to describe it, but those who have described it as a mechanical nightmare. As you are perhaps aware, the city is built on the foundations of the old Catacombs. They fuel their machinations with the cremated bones of ancient bodies. Which makes the name very appropriate..."

"City of the Dead," Hosen said, his eyes involuntarily fluttering.

"Indeed. Now, this Necropolis is said to be the home of a rare artefact. Supposedly, it is a stone that vibrates to the touch and can disrupt electrical equipment. You may find this description familiar..."

"It could lead us to Nameless," Paragon finished. All of a sudden, he seemed a lot more lively.

"That it could, Paragon. That it could. Are you up to the task, DSS?"

The group looked round at each other, but there was no disagreement. They all locked eyes and nodded affirmatively.

"Good. Just be careful. Most of Necropolis remains shrouded in mystery... Perhaps Hosen can enlighten you."

Hosen nodded, but did not seem certain. "I was only very little," he admitted.

"If you do not wish to go, I will not hold it against you."

"It's fine. It's just a place. Just like everything else in this fucked up, meaningless world."

Blight put a tentative hand on his comrade's shoulder. "It's our job to give this world meaning, Hosen. And you do it well."

* * *

The corpse was still stirring, which suggested that it wasn't a corpse at all. Caboose stood on its throat nonetheless, putting an affirmative end to the debacle.

"Let's hope the rest of them are a tad more challenging than that!" he quipped. Caboose was a characteristically upbeat, but with a hangover like his, it was difficult to come up with quality comedic material.

"Yes," Selfish replied. "Then you can use your farts on them."

Hosen was walking with his head bowed. His metal boots crunched on something vaguely human, a relic of some long-exhausted life buried in the earth. He was deep in thought, and barely listened to the group's conversation.

"What do you think Necropolis is like?" Scuffle asked his team.

"I suppose it is probably unique in it's structure," Selfless reasoned. "This civilisation has developed in darkness below our own. It'll be assuredly-different. They'll have varied technology that caters to the environment and infrastructure that exists in the deep earth."

"Do you think there are skelingtons?" Caboose asked, a hopeful glint in his eyes reminiscent of moonlight. If his armour preference was not a clue, Caboose was fond of skeletons.

Scuffle and Selfless exchanged a look. They were going to the Catacombs. "Perhaps."

"No, I mean live ones! Like... ones that walk and talk and slash and bash! One's I can kill!"

"It must be difficult to kill the long-dead," Scuffle chortled.

Caboose was not catching on to the joke. "Not for me."

As if to demonstrate he clamped his two artificially-heated gauntlets together, where they sizzled and hissed as they radiated in unison.

The Paragon had returned to a state of silence, meaning that when he spoke out loud a few minutes into the trek, he immediately had everyone's attention.

"Careful," he muttered, gesturing with his arm. "There's a drone up ahead."

Selfless peered out. "I can't see anything," he said, puzzled by his friend's reluctance.

"You can't see it yet," Paragon replied. "But I can hear it." He tapped his hand against the side of his silver skull headpiece, where a small outlet was located. His amplifying unit meant that he was always one step ahead of the rest in terms of environmental awareness.

The crumbling row of houses that made up the street was suddenly punctuated by a soft whirring sound. A yellow pinprick of light appeared upon a wall opposite an alley. Unmistakably, the first insight of an oncoming robotic search unit.

Drones were not dextrous opponents. If Caboose caught one in his gauntlets, he could crush it to death without a seconds thought. Similarly, Hosen could slice it in half with Palearch, or Scuffle could drop it with an arrow to its CPU. However, the feature that made them so deadly was not brute strength, but artificial intelligence. They were cunning, and never made direct contact with enemy signatures if it could be avoided. Although equipped with a semi-automatic machine gun, the primary function of a drone was to survey, and report back to its owner.

And in this case, it's owner was A.R.M.O.R. Which meant very bad things if it were to discover the DSS.

Most drones were remarkably simple. They appeared as a small, spherical ball, punctured only by a single, glaring oculus. It's power supply was a steam vent around the base of its body, and this meant that an engine refill was required every half an hour or so. As such, in spite of the danger they posed, they were fragile. The best way to summarise them would be as an insect. Easily killed, but deadly in certain cases.

The DSS moved into a conveniently-located quarry around the side of the street. Paragon watched intently, his trenchcoat blowing in the breeze, as the drone drew into sight, and swivelled its oculus around. All of a sudden, the blue retina fizzled out to black, and the orb dropped from the sky to hit the splintered earth below with an exhausted crunch. Selfless gave his crew the thumbs up, as he replaced the antennae on his Clockwork Detonator.

"Nice work," Scuffle said, patting the technician affectionately before cautiously approaching the grounded automaton. The drone was deathly still, and the glassy oculus had shattered on impact. It's surveillance days were up.

Paragon fumbled with his mask until he picked up Mr. Blight's radio signal. "Come in, Crow."

Blight's cheery voice came over the speakers, and Paragon spoke clearly and loudly, conveying the situation. "We're on 403 Quartant Street. We have a fallen angel. Over."

"Excellent!" Blight was considerably excited at the prospect, despite the fact that the capture of a drone was not an entirely-rare occurrence.

"Would you like us to return with the package?"

"Oh, no need for that!" Blight assured him. "You have a mission at hand. Leave it somewhere concealed, and I'll send the scouters around to collect it later."

"Loud and clear," Paragon said, gesturing to his waiting comrades. "Setting up dead drop underneath the stone steps."

"Good job!" Blight's voice sounded once more, before crackling into static.

"One day, something useful will come out of harnessing drone technology," Scuffle grunted.

"It already has!" Selfless cut in, defensive of his work. "Drones never used to be that easy to disable. Thank my research on vibration for that."

"Whatever," Caboose interrupted. "Let's just get to this place. I have an itch to do some killing."

* * *

The entrance to the Catacombs was not the most inviting impenetrable fortress that the DSS had ever encountered. It certainly was the most fortified. A gas-powered gatling gun sat aloft the metallic door dared for movement, eagerly yet silently anticipating the opportunity to shred skin and spill blood. A huge bar was drawn across a panel of corrugated sheets, and two Interrogators stood vigilant in front of it.

Interrogators are the complete opposite of drones. A.R.M.O.R's equivalent of the infantry, they are a striking military force, even in small numbers. And they do not fall easily. Although they are partly-human, their flesh and leather armour is supported by metal implants. Their mouth is augmented at the right with a defensive plating, pulling their lips into a permanent sneer. Stretched across both eyes, a rusty visor acts as a protective barrier, and a glass pane in its centre enhances the Interrogator's perception 200x. Nothing in their peripheral vision goes unnoticed. That way, they are quick to act on instances of trespass.

And act on it they do. Most Interrogators carry electrified twinblades, thin rods of steel separated in their centre by a leather hilt. However, these are only utilised lethally in extreme and violent situations. For backup, the Interrogator is loaded with a small array of throwing knives, as well as a short-ranged ballistic cannon which replaces the armour on their left shoulders.

Although they seem nigh-on indestructible in melee combat, a well-placed blow in one of their exposed regions and they'll fall just like any other foe.

Scuffle nearly fell back in surprise when he saw the Interrogators. Miraculously, they seemed to have missed him, and he was able to retreat out of eyesight before they could notice.

"We've got company," the DSS captain told his crew. "Two Interrogators, and a gatling."

Caboose was thrilled, but Selfless did not share in his enthusiasm. "Do you think a clockwork bomb would do it?"

"Maybe," Scuffle replied, resisting the temptation to get another look at the opposition. "But if it doesn't, we're facing a shit-ton of firepower here."

The Paragon was emotionless behind his skeletal helmet. "What about an ERD? A NIDBOT?"

Selfless went quiet as he mulled it over. "These guys have superhuman vision. It would have to come from behind them. And that's not an option at play here."

Hosen removed his gas mask and made a face like he was about to speak, but then his eyes grew wide like bowling balls, and he pointed behind the group.

A drone had drawn in behind them. This one had seen them. It immediately went into alarm mode, releasing heavy sound waves in all directions. The shrieking alarm shook the Interrogators into action. The first drew his twinblade out to full length, and the tips crackled with dormant electricity. His partner put out his palm, guiding the mounted cannon on his shoulder into a state of vibrant activity.

"Well, guess that sorts that," Scuffle chirped, pulling out his black hunting bow and notching a preparatory arrow.

Hosen withdrew Palearch, and the green-hued katana glittered in the sunlight. Paragon took the Silver Cogblade from its sheath, and brandished it before his eyes, a slight smile permeating his otherwise-still face. Selfless went for his flamethrower, the incendiary weapon filling his hands with a soothing warmth. Finally, Caboose toggled the valve on his armour, and he smashed his fists together joyously as the orange glint on their surface turned to a frosty white.

Then, the Interrogators were upon them.

Caboose dived straight for the cannon-mounted trooper. The Interrogator fired, the shot smashing against Caboose's armoured ribcage. The DSS member barely grimaced as the trajectory of the musket was slowed to a standstill against his ribs. He scarcely even dropped speed. He reached the Interrogator and flung his fist out. The trooper deflected the melee attack with a metal-imbued arm, and a kick to the chest sent Caboose sprawling to the ground. A sizzling from the cannon indicated that a new shot was being lined up.

Meanwhile, Paragon and Hosen had taken on the twinblade user. The Interrogator swung the double-edged blade at the pair, but they were swift enough to back-step it, and it brushed the air in front of them. Paragon seized the Silver Cogblade hard in his hands, and the blade screeched as lightning ran down it's sturdy core. Then, he swung.

The Interrogator met him blow for blow, the two electrified blades smashing against one another in rapid succession, but making little leeway. Hosen attempted to slice at the Interrogator as he was distracted, but the trooper anticipated the attack and a well-placed kick sent the katana straight out of Hosen's hands.

Scuffle drew his bow to full length, and fired a bone-splitting arrow straight at the hovering drone. The projectile stuck fast inside the oculus, and the automaton crashed down to earth without so much as a whimper.

The gatling gun had whirred into life, and was tearing up the earth near Scuffle's feet. Selfless pulled the pin on one of his Clockwork Bombs and tossed the explosive in the gun's direction. The grenade fell short of its target, exploding around the doorframe and tearing off the rear armour of the Interrogator fighting with Caboose.

Whilst the trooper screeched in pain, Caboose rose to his feet, his face obscured with fury, flaming red with wrath.

**"Nobody knocks down the dragon!"** he roared, bunching his fists so hard he appeared to break his fingers. His ferocious scream turned from deep to guttural as golden, horned armour exploded out of his body and his gauntlets turned into knife-like claws.

Without even pausing, the dragon apostle grabbed the flailing Interrogator, and sunk one of his fists into his ribcage. The trooper's scream turned into a soft moan, and Caboose withdrew his scaly fist from his socket, now coated in sticky red blood and torn tissue. The Interrogator slumped, and just as it looked like Caboose was going to let him go, both of his hands went to the trooper's throat. In one swift, unburdened movement, the DSS soldier ripped the Interrogator's head clean off, allowing a river of blood to fall onto his head and pour down his shoulders like a gruesome waterfall. Caboose threw back his jaws and roared viciously, letting the blood fall across his face and soaking in the pleasure of his fresh kill.

At the same time, the Interrogator fighting Paragon looked to be gaining the upper hand. Having knocked away Hosen, the trooper was able to use both ends of the twinblade to strike at Paragon, and now the DSS member was growing weary. He looked as though he were about to stumble, but then his opponent went rigid, his eyes bulging from their sockets. Paragon saw the magnetised clamp around the Interrogator's neck, and made a mental note to thank Selfless later. He wasted no time in severing the trooper's hands right off, causing the crackling twinblade to fall onto the floor at his feet. Then, he stuck the point of the Cogblade straight between the Interrogator's eyes, and cranked the power in the blade up to maximum. Blood poured from the trooper's eyes as his brain was liquefied, and then he dropped hard on his back.

Only the gatling gun remained. Scuffle tried to run to the side to escape its path of devastation, but a stray bullet pierced his ankle and he went down. Hosen saw his imperilled friend and leapt into action, seizing his fallen katana, and then launching it like a spear into the gun's socket. The steel cut perfectly through the copper piping, and the gatling grew still, smoke still seeping from the end of its barrels.

The aftermath was a deadly quiet as the various machine parts ceased whirring and a muffled groan lulled into nothing. Then, Scuffle's voice broke the air. "I need help over here!"

The DSS captain was wriggling on the floor, staring with wide-eyed horror at the spooling blood around his left foot. Selfless dropped down next to him, a vial of disinfectant in his lap.

"Hold still," he whispered, plunging a surgical knife into the wound and removing the bullet. Scuffle bared his teeth, but remained still throughout. Then, Selfless took the disinfectant, calmly measuring the liquid as he poured a small torrent of it onto the raw wound. Scuffle clenched his eyes together like a pair of ruffled shutters and screeched in agony. His whole body shook, but he maintained enough control to refrain from rolling away from the source of his woes. Eventually, the disinfectant was withdrawn, and Selfless took a bandage out of his first aid bag and tied it around the wound. When Scuffle opened his eyes, his ankle was burning like a fire pit, but he felt reassured by Selfless' medical expertise and tried to release the tension in his shoulders.

"Thank... you," he said breathlessly.

Selfless nodded, packing up his equipment. "You can't walk, boss. We need to get you back to HQ."

Scuffle frowned. "No. You need to finish the mission. If you leave now, A.R.M.O.R will converge on this place like a rolling thunder, and when we come back there'll be a hundred of these guys. Don't let my sacrifice be in vain. I can make it back myself."

Selfless looked liable to argue for a few moments, but eventually decided against it and batted the thought away with a flick of his wrist.

"Paragon will be in charge for this mission," Scuffle continued. "He has my trust."

The Paragon nodded. Even with his mask off, his features were still deprived of a notable deep feeling. "I won't let you down."

"I know," Scuffle grimaced. "Now, go!"

The DSS hurried over to the newly-liberated outpost. With a heavy push, Paragon and Hosen migrated the metal bar drawn over the corrugated door, and tossed it to the ground. Selfless then offered to blow the sheet of corrugated iron from the doorway, but Caboose offered up his more 'organic' services, breaking the sheet clean in two with a barrage of tempered-flame punches. The path now unobstructed, the DSS filed inside. Selfless took one last look at his team leader, before raising a hand of farewell, and rushing inside.

* * *

The tunnel ahead was cold and damp. The only light in the entire cavern was emanating from Selfless' mask-mounted headlamp. A rancid, musty smell permeated the air; it was the scent of ancient death, and it was nauseating. All along the walls were crumbling altars and pillars, some decorated by emaciated stone statues. Long-extinguished candle wicks sat in their hands, a chilly reminder that warmth and light once penetrated the thorough darkness.

"What a shit hole," Caboose remarked.

"For once, I must agree," Selfless replied. "This place is repelling."

After around twenty cycles on Paragon's clock, the cavern began to widen out. The slippery rock floor turned into a set of geometrically-uneven stairs. Just as the group was about to descend, Paragon put out his hand.

"Easy," he said softly. "That tile there is a pressure plate."

The block in question was just a single step below Lei Hosen's outstretched foot. The DSS member was only just able to withdraw his limb, and he looked at Paragon with exasperation plastered across his forehead and eyes.

"Close call," Hosen chuckled, before taking a step backwards up the stairs. As he did so, his foot landed onto a second pressure pad tucked away at the stone's apex. His stomach sank like a stone in a river as the machination geared up, and a crossbow at the end of the hallway drew into a combat-ready stance. Hosen only just managed to put his back against the right side of the stairs in time before a trio of serrated bolts shot through the space in which he had been standing. The projectiles shattered as they collided with the stairs, and Hosen puffed out his chest slowly, woozy with relief.

"Nice!" Selfless laughed.

"Ah, shut it," Hosen retorted, trying to hide his anxious grin behind his mask.

The swordsman started to descend the steps, his eyes cautiously upon the ground, when a strange clinking sound perked up his ears. "What's that?"

Selfless had heard it too. "It's coming up the stairs."

Just as Hosen peered out into the gloominess below, a dark shape rushed out of it. Startled, he fell onto his arse, and his opponent - a hugely-versatile skeletal wheel with long jagged points - rushed around him, tracing him inside a circular prison.

"It's a bonewheel!" Caboose roared, clubbing his fists together in anticipation.

"Not like any I've ever seen," Selfless replied.

He wasn't wrong. This bonewheel was heavily fortified with iron platings and supports, and boasted retractable spokes as opposed to the customary spear points.

And, even worse, it did not appear to be alone. Multiple enemies were filing up the stone stairs, some bonewheel-shaped, and others more humanoid. All of them were focused on a singular aim - the DSS' destruction.

"It's an army..." Hosen mouthed, taken aback. "A skeletal legion."

He was starting to recall his darkest memories of the Catacombs; flashing images of skeletal warriors clad in steel armour slashing with vicious curved swords. Nightmarish visions without a doubt, all wrapped in an impassable veil of dark.

"At arms," Paragon ordered, his Cogblade already drawn. "We fight them right here."

"On the stairs?!" Hosen exclaimed.

"Do you see an alternative?"

Hosen swallowed hard. He did not.

When he looked back at the oncoming hordes, he made out nearly fifty figures. He shook violently at the sight, but steadied his hands as he released Palearch from its rest.

Then, he braced himself, for the skeletons were upon them.

* * *

**To Be Continued...**


	4. Episode 3: Ravaged

**The Denizens of Darkness: Episode 3 - Ravaged**

**Starring: Alone in the blight as Mr. Blight**

**ParagonEmil as The Paragon**

**EarthScraper as Caboose**

**Leider Hosen as Lei Hosen**

**Mr. Selfish as Selfless**

**And ASouffleToServeTwo as Scuffle**

**Guest Starring: FishSlayer as Cynara**

**KiraSnow134 as Shi**

**Mxthomas as Mex Thomas**

* * *

The bonewheel tore past Lei Hosen, whipping up a twister of dirt and rock as it accelerated around him. The swordsman had trained from an early age to perceive the movements of his enemies, but the velocity of his new, vehicular opponent was nigh-impossible to track. All he saw was flashes of spoked metal, illuminated faintly by Selfless' light.

By now, the skeletons were all around them. Hosen noted that they, like their rounded counterparts, were fused with metal parts. One of them, seemingly an alpha judging by its distinguished, full-silver skull, was almost entirely mechanical.

His teammates were riled up for battle, their respective weapons drawn. Selfless had sheathed his explosives for fear of structural damage to the cave in the event of their detonation, but he was far from helpless, and the tip of his flamethrower was serving both as an intimidating weapon and a source of lighting.

"Come on then!" Caboose yelled, encouraging the challenge of sending his undead opponents into a second grave.

The skeletal army formed a circle around the DSS, closing them into the middle of the narrow stairway. Just as it seemed as though the skeleton leader would give the command to attack, the whole legion fell still. The alpha took out a scroll of parchment, made as though he were clearing his throat (not that there was anything but bone in it), and started to read.

"Dear sirs or madams," it began, its voice eerily friendly, and amplified by its hollow chest cavity. "You are cordially invited to dine with our gracious lord, the Bone King, in his thriving palace of Necropolis. We hope you will not refuse."

His task completed, the skeleton rolled up the parchment and furled it inside of its metal frame. The synchronous, rhythmic nature of the whole procedure implied that the welcoming was a ritual that it had completed many times previously, and grown accustomed to. Following the invitation, it did not speak, and simply stared out at the DSS with empty eye sockets.

A few moments passed. The tension was so tangible that it could be plucked out of the air, and played like a flute. But then, the silence was shattered as Caboose's heavy voice punched through it, summarising the thoughts of his entire party.

"What the fuck?"

* * *

The candle on the window ledge had blown out exactly thirteen minutes ago.

Cynara knew the timing for certain, as she had little to occupy herself with but to count the minutes. They were long, drawn-out and strangled, but as surely as there are sixty seconds in each, soon enough they were passing.

At least the candle had provided some distraction. Whilst it couldn't offer a deep and meaningful conversation on the nature of humanity, it was still better than a minute with her sister, Shi. The girl was so intolerably naive - or perhaps it was all a simple façade intended to annoy. Either way, when Shi asked Cynara what time they would be receiving lunch, she had little new to offer.

"Do I look like I have the brochure?" she snapped, smiling as her sibling recoiled from her vicious, cobra-like strike. "We're in a prison cell, Shi. We eat when they feed us, or we die when they forget."

Shi's eyes darkened as her complexion increased. "The King said that we could eat with him whenever we liked!"

"We're not his guests, we're his prisoners!"

"He invited us!"

"No, he captured us." Cynara conjured a storm to her face as she released her pent-up frustration. "It doesn't matter how politely he did it!"

Shi folded her arms and pursed her lips. "You're just jealous because he liked me more than you."

Cynara looked as though she might explode into laughter. "Oh, yes. How you have earned the favour of the twisted, demented despot who holds us captive! Good job."

The sound of the two sisters quarrelling was abruptly interrupted by the wrenching of the bolt in their cell door. Immediately, they snapped to, their eyes fixed upon the source of their new attentions. The gate swung open, and two metalletons strode into the room.

Shi had christened their captors herself; an amalgam of metal and skeleton. Cynara despised the name, deriding it as cutesy and childish. However, in the absence of a proper term, she had taken to using it, deciding that it would be demeaning enough to her jailers to warrant their grievance.

Immediately, Cynara cut in front of the metalleton's speech with a specially-selected bout of dry sarcasm.

"Hey, you!" she cawed. "You're looking great. Have you lost weight on your bones?"

"Your presences are required are at dinner tonight," one of the metalletons boomed, completely ignoring her.

Shi's face lit up, but Cynara's twisted into a scowl.

"What if we don't want to eat with his highness?" she countered. "I prefer the dank darkness of his cell to his company."

The metalleton who had spoken looked at Cynara, and she could have sworn that it frowned at her - even in spite of its lack of eyebrows.

"Too bad," it retorted. "We have new guests arriving. The King would like everyone to be acquainted."

"New people?" Shi shrieked for joy. "Thank Nito! Cynara is sooo boring!"

In response, her sister merely folded her arms.

"You will come now," the metalleton repeated, gesturing with a bony appendage to the open cell door.

"Or what?" Cynara spat. Shi pulled a face at her sister.

"Shut up, Cynara. There's new people to meet."

"Great," her sister groaned. "We get to meet our new cellmates...Fantastic."

* * *

The skeleton army had been leading the DSS for some time now. Most of them were still on high alert, with their hands loose at their sides - but critically - close enough to their weapons to draw them at the slightest twitch.

The problem that arises with trusting skeletons is their complete lack of recognisable behavioural patterns and expressions. When a half-mechanical skeleton warrior stares at you, with its emotionless mouth and vacant eyes, you may be right to assume hostility right away. You certainly would not be criticised for being unsuspecting of an invitation to tea. Even now, when that obscure probability had come to pass, there was little room for the DSS to feel secure, what with the fully-weaponised skeletal men (and bonewheel lapdogs) all around them.

Fortunately, it seemed that they were almost at their destination. The humid, musty stench in the underground air had increased tenfold in their descent, and it was now so strong it was practically falling out of their ears. The cavern had continued to widen and brighten, and now there were symbols patterned across the walls. Mostly, they were old symbols of necromancy, but some flickered with an orange glow - messages from travellers long-passed. The whole atmosphere was quite melancholy; Selfless would not admit to it, but he felt strangely humbled to be passing through such an ancient construct, and felt compelled to give a sign of respect.

Suddenly, the cave forked in two directions. The skeletons lead the DSS down the left; what was in the opposite direction was not discussed, and nobody was inclined to look, what with the watchful guards all around them.

At last, the cavern opened up, and around the corner, the DSS caught their first glimpse of Necropolis.

The first word that caught Paragon's tongue was 'enormous.' Necropolis was at least three times the size of the Undead Burg above, although its architecture was strikingly different. Whereas the Burg was a crumbling ruin of old stone punctuated by newer surveillance technology, Necropolis was built up to the ground with stunning machinery. The foundations of the city were giant metal beams, and these pylons carried straight up through the city, apexing at the cavern's roof. Dim, foggy lights speckled at numerous intervals, giving the city the impression of a starry sky on a cloudy night. Paragon could make out a multi-layered rail system that wrapped around the city, almost in a protective fashion. A few miniature waterfalls lapped down the quartz-tinted walls, splashing into a murky tidal pool at the bottom of the surrounding cliffs, above where Necropolis stood.

The second word that struck Paragon, was 'beautiful.'

In order to reach the city, there was a narrow stone path to cross, which winded erratically like a snake over an abyss. The walkway did not look safe, especially not for such a large group, but these concerns seemed to bounce off their skeletal guides, as they pointed the path out with a thin hand and a blank expression.

"Can't we just take the elevator?" Caboose asked.

The joke bounced off of the skeletons like a mirror, and they simply raised their hands and signalled the path again.

"Fine," Caboose grunted. "But if I die, you're getting my medical bills, pal."

The walk took around ten minutes. The surrounding scenery was gorgeous, with the prize going to a family of white and purple crystals that jutted down from the ceiling. It was difficult to admire the sights however, as the group's full attention was required to prevent an accidental fall from the cliffside.

Around halfway, Caboose saw the top half of a skeleton clinging precariously to the cliff's edge. Seeing the opportunity for mischief, or as he put it, 'fun', he moved to stamp on its hands. But without warning, the skeletal torso prised itself up onto the walkway, and from seemingly-nowhere produced a long, truncated musical instrument.

"Welcome, strangers!" it croaked, evoking a strangely-jubilant voice. Then, it popped the instrument between its teeth, and blew. A sound somewhat akin to a trumpet emanated from the oversized barrel, and the drawbridge at the end of the walkway - previously unopened - fell open.

Selfless smiled in awe. "What a wondrous contraption. A sound-based locking mechanism. I should love to see the blueprints."

Lei Hosen had another suggestion. "Or maybe they just manually unlocked it when they heard the signal."

The typically-cheerful Selfless scowled at Hosen. "Why do you always argue with me?"

Hosen shrugged. "Entertainment."

In truth, Hosen was trying to distract himself from an environment that was becoming increasingly familiar to him. He remembered the triple waterfalls, the path across the cavern and the outline of the city. And, if his troubled memory served him amicably, he knew exactly what he would remember next.

And that thought terrified him.

* * *

"Are you going to talk, or are you going to burn?"

It was a simple enough question, but Mex Thomas chose not to answer it with words. It was his eyes that told his story, pierced with anger and terror as they were.

Mr. Blight shook his head in disappointment, and brandished the searing-red end of his branding prod in both hands.

"I was really hoping that you were going to answer. I need to know where that Titanite drop is going to happen, Mex. You're going to tell me."

"No, I'm not," Mex heaved. "Now fuck you."

Blight narrowed his eyes, and raised the prod over his head. "Wrong answer."

Mex squeezed his eyes shut in anticipation of the pain, but something had caught Blight's eye. He threw a look at Mex that assured him they would be continuing their chat later, and swept out of the room.

The former dealer fell still on his torture slab.

Mr. Blight arrived at the top of the steps to meet Scuffle, who he noticed was shuffling slowly and with a pained expression. When the DSS member saw his leader at the top of the stairs with outstretched arms and a compassionate smile on his face, he knew that he had made it.

"Scuffle!" Blight called. "My friend, what has happened to you? Where are the DSS?"

Scuffle gestured to the ground with his finger, and Blight realised that he was answering the latter question rather than the former. He repeated it, just in case Scuffle had not heard it.

"Shot," his agent grimaced. "Gatling gun bastard got me in the leg."

Blight's face went unusually-pale. He was not a fighter by any means, and mention of grisly injury was enough to make him feel very faint. He only used the threat of violence as a deterrent; he was virtually incapable of committing any on his own steam. "Have you been treated?"

Scuffle nodded as he grit his teeth. "Selfless did a bang-up job, but I need to get this thing on ice."

"Why, is it an incendiary wound?"

"No, but it bloody hurts."

Blight nodded, content with the information he had been given, and nothing further. "Yes, well... Please do go on inside."

"Thanks," Scuffle mouthed. "I hope I haven't interrupted anything back here."

Blight watched as his agent trod slowly up the stairs.

"No... Not at all," he replied.

* * *

Shi had never seen such revulsion as that which Cynara displayed when she saw the violet-blue dress that she had been ordered to wear for dinner.

"What's wrong with my prison rags?" she asked.

The metalleton watching her did not explicitly know, but it followed its orders obediently. "Just put it on."

"Don't you think it's pretty?" Shi asked, astounded. "Mine is."

Her attire being an orange and white-cuffed corset and skirt, it looked remarkably exotic, if nothing else. Certainly, Cynara could not picture how such fine and colourful tailor-ship could have emerged from a dank gutter like the Catacombs. Still, the bright colours were unappealing to her, and she would have said so, if it were not for the metalleton that seemed to be losing patience with the both of them.

Sighing, Cynara replaced her rags with the obnoxiously-blue garment that had been laid out for her. She was conscious of the metalleton watching her the entirety of the time she changed, and made a point of saying so.

"I know it may be asking a lot of a skeleton," she asserted. "But please don't get a boner."

As predicted, the metalleton did not even slightly budge. "Hurry up."

Shaking her head in disbelief, Cynara finished changing and gazed at herself in the cobwebbed slate of mirror on the wall.

"Looking shit," she remarked, casting a manufactured smile at her skeletal captor.

"Let's go," he retorted, gesturing her out into the hallway.

After exhaling deeply, and cursing her own misfortunes, Cynara followed, with her sister closely in her wake.

* * *

The inner sanctum of Necropolis was not a disappointment for fans of its exterior.

The streets were a veritable labyrinth, coiling through, over and across each other. The pavements were crafted of the same quartz rock that made up the cliffs around the city, but were carved into monumental tapestries depicting various old deities of the land. One of them showed a pair of outstretched hands reaching for a budding wick of a flame. Another portrayed the defeat of ancient dragons, with colossal bolts of jagged lightning peeling off their durable scales.

As Selfless had predicted, the technology was radically different. The most notable feature was the trainline, which was revealed on closer inspection to be more of a mine cart. What minerals it was carrying was uncertain, but the whole operation was run entirely on steam, created by the adverse reaction of hot coals to one of the naturally-flowing waterfalls that had been redirected via a set of panels.

Other intriguing machinations included the construction towers, built on pivots and pylons that allowed the behemoth's height to be modified at will to serve different requirements and purposes.

Security in the city streets was managed not by flying drones or watchtower cameras, but by a series of automated ballista cannons that were mounted into the top alcoves of buildings, acting as something of a silent guardian to their constructs. Occasionally, a heavily-fortified bonewheel (even more armoured than the ones accompanying us) would whizz round a corner, pause briefly to study its built-in howitzers, and roll on its way.

The whole city had a clockwork feel, like everything was running on automation, and with carefully-planned, precise timings.

Selfless did not hesitate to demonstrate his awe. "What a fantastic visage!"

In response, Caboose forced an extended yawn from the back of his throat. The sound echoed off of the smooth surfaces around him, and brought a mischievous grin to his lips.

"Arsecrack!" he yelled, chuckling as the reverberations ricocheted off of the streets. One of the skeletons leading them stopped as the soundwave bounced between its ribs, playing them like a xylophone.

"Don't do that," it advised.

"Don't do WHAT?" Caboose roared, his hand to his ear in jest.

"That. It may cause a rockslide."

"I love slides!"

Hosen, who had previously been staring at the cobbled ground intently, knew just how to get through to his demented friend. "Caboose, everyone loves a slide. But there's a time and a place, ya know?"

"Whatever." Caboose returned to his state of idleness, broken only occasionally when he kicked a loose stone skyward.

Finally, the skeletons stopped walking. They had paused outside of a rustic building with faintly-gold trimmings. If Selfless had to guess, he would have said that the building was a church.

"You will find suits inside," the alpha skeleton informed the group. "Change. We will await you here."

Since the DSS was kitted out in heavy battle armour in an unknown and suspicious environment, the idea of changing into a suit was less than popular. However, they did not wish to incite the ire of nearly fifty skeletal warriors, and so they decided collectively to obey their wishes.

Inside the building was an open stone hall. There were three racks of black tuxedos at the sides, laid out on a dusty red carpet. Aside from this, the building was as bare as the bones that had likely constructed it.

Hosen lifted one of the tuxes from the rack, and eyeballed it. "This thing is suffocating!" he protested, trying on the blazer. "Fuck this!"

The Paragon had already changed, and was looking at himself in one of the rustic mirrors at the side. He was well renowned for being a polymorph, and was much more adaptive than his comrades to different combat situations. As it seemed this would be a surveillance mission, high stealth was required. The suit was appropriate for this purpose.

"It's a bit itchy," he admitted. "But it'll do."

"Do you trust these bonebags?!" Caboose asked the group despairingly. "They could eviscerate us in two seconds flat without our gear!"

"They could do that now, Caboose," Selfless assured him. "They outnumber us by 1:10."

"Screw the odds!" his comrade protested. "One of those crumbly corpses touches me, and I'll punch his face off!"

"It's best to play along for now. We will find an opportunity to escape later."

"Later?" Hosen chimed in. "We'll be gone by then! What do you think they'll give us to eat? They're dead! They probably have a very low-cal diet!"

"Can't be worse than Paragon's cooking," Selfless returned.

"I'm not eating salad," Caboose announced. "I'll eat my own nails first."

"And what of this Bone King?" Hosen pressed. "His name is ringing all the wrong bells. This whole place, in fact."

"Don't you remember anything about what happened to you and your parents?" Selfless asked.

"Only bits and pieces. But I know they were killed back out on that street. I remember their blood pooling on those fancy-pantsy tiles." As he spoke, the adrenaline-assisted energy dissipated from his face entirely.

Selfless offered his comrade a sympathetic smile. "Well, you may have your revenge soon enough. But for now, I recommend we play nice."

* * *

The table was already laid when Cynara and Shi arrived, fully-dressed up, for dinner. It was salad again, with plants of varying shades of green complimented by more daring purple and yellow sprouts.

"Freshly picked," the skeleton with the robes had informed them. It was not a metalleton because none of his bones had been augmented by metal. It was a noticeably old body, with the white bones turning a pale orange and the marrow starting to disintegrate.

Cynara was doubtful. "Fresh from where? The sunlight-deprived caves?"

The skeleton that had told her about the salad dropped its jaw in despair. Apparently, it was the chef.

Their host appeared somewhat later, accompanied by the same breathless hooting of trumpets as he had surrounded himself with on his first introduction. He was draped in what appeared, to Cynara, to be an old carpet shawl. Although it was slightly frayed, it was admittedly a beautiful design, with a dark sky twinkling with runny stars upon the front, and a blazing sun with multicoloured streaks on the flipside.

"Greetings," the Bone King said softly. "How are you beautiful ladies enjoying your stay?"

Cynara's mouth curved into a snarl. "Let us go, you fucking psychopath."

The Bone King's welcoming smile was replaced with a much-darker brood. He looked at Shi. "Your sister possesses a very sharp tongue, does she not? I fear it will cut through my hospitality, lest it cease immediately."

Cynara did not speak, but her shoulders continued to heave with smouldering wrath.

"I believe we are expecting some new visitors tonight," the King continued. He turned his focus toward the robed skeleton. "Horace, where are our guests?"

"Just coming," Horace answered, casting a glance over his shoulder. "And here they are."

Just as his sentence concluded, the DSS came around the corner, and began descending the steps to the banquet. Now besuited, the quartet looked suitably dapper, if a little shellshocked. They were soldiers, not suitors, and were fishes out of water when it came to formality. Still, they all offered friendly smiles towards the other patrons of the feast, in particular Caboose, who had taken great interest in two of the diners.

"Boobs?" he whispered, before cheering loudly.

"Oh, Lords," Selfless whispered, embarrassed for the whole party.

"Welcome, welcome!" The Bone King cried, rising from his seat and spreading his arms out wide. "Ladies, meet the Dark Sun Squadron, or DSS for short!"

Cynara gazed at her new acquaintances for a few moments, before crinkling her nose. "Am I supposed to be impressed?"

The Bone King's open, smiling mouth slowly shut, and he watched closely as the DSS awkwardly took their places opposite himself and the two sisters.

"This is Shi," he declared, gesturing to the woman closest to him, who was smiling brightly like a lighthouse. The DSS gave her a little wave.

"And this is Cynara." The simmering redhead gave a little nod to her fellow patrons, which they hesitantly returned.

"Would you do us the honour of your names, gentlemen?" The Bone King asked, his brown teeth locked firmly together in a grin.

The DSS looked at each other before answering. In the event of questioning, they always gave their code-names rather than their assumed names, in order to stay below the radar. As it is, their names are based upon animals.

"Raven," Selfless declared, taking a proper bow. He had received that title for his reproachful and keen eye in combat.

"Scorpion," Paragon continued, repeating Selfless' gesture. He was known as thus due to his cautious stinging tactics in battle.

Lei Hosen hesitated before speaking. "Cat." Of course, this title was bestowed for his friendly yet dangerous nature.

And finally, Caboose yelled "Dragon!" There really shouldn't be a need for an explanation with this one.

For reference, Scuffle's code-name is Octopus, for his numerous approaches to combat and Mr. Blight calls himself Crow, for he inspires fear with his appearance rather than combat prowess.

The Bone King chuckled. "What a peculiar group you are."

Cynara snorted her drink as she heard the names given, but said nothing.

"Well, please tuck in!" The King boomed. "It is my great pleasure to have such a lively bunch of characters around my table."

The meal commenced, with the various DSS members uncertain of how to proceed. They had been given knives and forks, but since their food was primarily variants of vegetation, it seemed unnecessary to use them.

Selfless noticed that the skeletons sat around the table were simply cramming their mouths with salad leaves. He found this odd considering that they had no way of swallowing it, but shrugged the peculiar behaviour off and pressed on with his meal. As he was practically a blacksmith, he struggled to keep up a gently appearance, and frequently resorted to using his hands, often dropping some of his dinner down his suit.

Caboose stuck his tongue out the second he saw the vegetables on the table. He took a couple of red chillis, but ignored the rest of the platter. After failing to use the fork to pick up a chilli, he reverted to using his fingers, and crushed the spicy plant inside his mouth. Seconds later, his whole mouth caught alight, but he barely reacted. A couple of times during the meal he gazed up and saw the girl that had been referred to as Shi watching him and giggling. Apparently, he was quite hilarious - but he didn't quite get it.

The Paragon was the most refined gentleman of his crew. He ate eloquently with the supplied cutlery, knocking back several bowls full of green salad leaves and a few of the yellow beans. He was clearly enjoying the meal, but his eyes were consistently fixed upward, ensuring that he was always ready to react in the event of a sour turn.

Lei Hosen was the least-relaxed of his party, however. The presence of the similarly-cynical Cynara kept up his spirits somewhat, but his gaze kept diverting to the Bone King and his assorted skeletal henchmen, who seemed increasingly and worryingly familiar to him. There was definitely something about the King himself - his exuberant mannerisms kept Hosen on the edge of his seat.

Conversation was minimal. Selfless had originally tried to strike up a conversation with Cynara, the closest to him, but she wouldn't meet his eyes and only grunted in response to his questions.

_She has a bee in her bonnet, _he thought to himself._ Or, maybe, she's just being cautious._

He therefore spent most of the meal trying to articulate an escape plan. The room in which they ate was heavily-guarded, and therefore the unsuitable environment for a breakout attempt. However, once they reached the streets again, there were numerous twisting paths and corridors that seemed ideal for losing pursuers. It was preferable for them to retrieve their gear before leaving the city complex, something that could prove to be difficult judging by the frequency-resonating lock mechanism on the drawbridge. They would probably have to obtain a trumpet.

Too bad that none of the DSS could play.

Just as he was formulating the various strands into one contingent stream of consciousness, his thoughts were scattered by the Bone King, who had spoken for the first time since the beginning of the meal - addressing The Paragon.

"So, what does the DSS do, Scorpion?" he asked, correctly identifying Paragon as an authority.

Paragon finished chewing his food, swallowed and answered. "We protect the interests of the people of Lordran."

"By doing what, pray tell?"

Paragon shrugged. "We catch bad guys - A.R.M.O.R enforcers, mostly."

"A.R.M.O.R?" The Bone King stumbled, his eyes widened. He seemed stunned, but it was only momentary, and he quickly regained his composure. "Yes, I've had a few of their type poking their noses down here. All in the name of preservation... I tell you, if ever a group rubbed me the wrong way..."

He suddenly stopped, as though remembering something, and changed the subject. "Have you heard of the Dragon Priests?"

Nobody spoke up, but Hosen's face went deathly white. The King elaborated.

"Zealots from the deep underground. They worship the bones of an ancient dragon from Ash Lake. I've heard that they have moved their operations to the surface... I couldn't tell you what they were doing, though. Something to do with Titanite."

The whole of the DSS froze in space. Selfless swallowed the lump of food in his throat, and blurted "Excuse me?!"

The King looked baffled. "Are you okay, Selfless?"

"Yes, I am. Sorry. I was just wondering... You said about the Titanite?"

The King smiled, but this time, it was a demonstration of pure menace, and his eyes writhed with fury. "I thought your name was Raven, Selfless?"

The DSS member stopped breathing. He had allowed himself to be tricked, and now the trap was closing.

"Oh yes, Selfless. And Caboose, Paragon and Lei Hosen. I know ALL about the DSS. I just wanted to confirm that you were who I thought you were. The Drake will be pleased to know that I have captured you."

All the skeletons in the room had stood up and drawn weapons - seemingly from nowhere. The DSS knew that they were completely trapped. They had no weapons or armour and were enormously outnumbered. They barely even struggled. Even Paragon, who hated to demonstrate any weakness, was forced to concede.

"He was quite displeased at how you disrupted his Titanite shipments," the Bone King continued. "And interrogated his man, Mex. But I was only happy to arrange a second shipment for him. Titanite is, of course, our chief export."

In a display of impeccable timing, the King lent his hand against a nearby wooden beam, just as one of his train carts rumbled overhead. All of the plates on the table shook as the vehicle traversed the room, and the DSS were thrown off balance.

It was now clear what the minerals transported around the city were used for.

"I think our meal has concluded," The King declared. "Men, take our guests to their cells."

Cynara, who had been silently observing the unravelling situation, frowned deeply as two of the metalletons grabbed her by the arms and secured her. "What have we done?"

"Nothing," the King retorted. "Except I can no longer stand the sight of you or your sister. You will both be executed in the morning."

Now, even Shi looked horrified. Cynara struggled against her captors' bony limbs, succeeding in tearing one of them's left arm off, but was ultimately suppressed into stillness.

"You'll get yours," she whispered, trying hard to burn holes in the King's forehead with only her fiercely-bright eyes. "You cunt."

The King raised his goblet to his lips, drenching his scraggy beard in red wine, or whatever similarly-coloured liquid he was drinking.

"I'm sure," he chortled, wiping his chin with the sleeve of his extravagant robe. "See you in the morning."

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

* * *

**Eventually.**

**This chapter will be my penultimate FanFiction piece for a while. I may not update for the rest of this year, so... sorry about the cliffhanger!**


End file.
